K1tty 1n P1nk
by callmeakumatized
Summary: "Wait. You have seven cats, and they are all named 'Plagg?" "Yeah? Didn't I just go over that?" she answered, glancing at him like HE was the crazy cat lady. "Seven black cats. Lucky number seven." Something was lacking here, communication-wise. Now Adrien just had to figure out what all was in his "job description". /OCD tendencies can't stop her friends' love...of cats OR buns.
1. pr0l0gu3

[[A/N: easing back into writing. thank you guys for sticking with me, reading this stuff, leaving lovely comments...it has helped so, so much. love yous guys hearts!

um, only warning with this one is maybe some triggers for OCD and depression sufferers?]]

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**PR0L0GU3**

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It probably started right at the ripe age of 13, when Marinette created Jagged Stone's now absolutely _staple _Eiffel Tower glasses – an international phenomenon for fans – followed by a likewise international raving review in _Metal Lourd _magazine over the _actually-smells-like-sweat-and-leather_ CD cover for the same artist. _La Mode _came next, and at the age of 14, Marinette Dupain-Cheng could now boast of having two features on the covers of magazines; the latter featured her same rock idol, though working as a model this time, sporting her creation of a sequined and rhinestone jacket made out of hand-crafted _leather_ feathers.

As the daughter of break-through designer Sabine Cheng herself, it was "only a matter of time" before Marinette would show the world her own fueled style. From here, it wasn't long before the magazines craved real _pictures _of the girl, beyond the sunglasses and floppy hats her mother insisted on hiding her behind, and the flashed peace signs and model smiles she gave when she spotted a camera pointed her way. Sabine tried to shelter the child as much as possible, but paparazzi were insistent. In a final effort to sate the craving for an exclusive, Marinette, pushing past her mother's resistance as she came of age at 17, agreed to _La Mode_'s offer to feature her, modeling her own designs.

The five-page spread sold out in the first three days.

_"Marinette Dupain-Cheng: Famed Rock Legend Designer and Punk Princess _

_ "Beyond what many have seen of her baby-face cheeks and childlike 'do, Mlle DP-C, as she lovingly is referred to by **Jagged Stone** himself, strikes nothing short of an ambrosial figure in clothes she had previously designed with 'only Jagged in mind.' And while we can only sit back and _dream _of being on a first-name basis with a worldwide rock phenomenon in human form, Marinette only smiles sweetly, shrugging at the topic. _

_"We didn't know what we were in for, however, when we asked – – the designer to pretty please grace us with more of her designs, maybe modeling them herself._

_"When she first came out of the dressing room, Marinette still wore her porcelain-doll smile. And, though her signature twin tails were absent – in favor of her own near-faux hawk style – she still looked like a kid playing dress-up in a _Hot Topic _store. Then we put her in front of a camera._

_Sure, Marinette is a _nice _girl. She talks _nice_, she acts _nice_, she laughs _nice_. _

_…Then she looks over her shoulder past that raven-black hair and those devastatingly blue eyes – cat-like, almost, as some have claimed – and blows you a kiss, and the shockwave itself is enough to break your poisoned heart and boy, you are so far gone by that point and then you remember she's _dressed in leather_…"_

Through the years, Marinette's popularity only grew stronger.

_Metal Lourd:_

_ "Marinette Dupain-Cheng and rocker boyfriend Luka Couffaine walk the red carpet together at the Lourve benefit concert. We dig that purple-tipped hair, Mari-Berry!"_

_ Jalous:_

_ "Mari DP-C 'Rocks' Fashion World with Goosebump-Inducing Hypnotic Designs: Visiting superstar royalty Price Ali states that 'her eyes were the most mesmerizing sight out of the whole show'"_

_ Elle:_

_ "Sassy P-Tails and how to ROCK your Hair, MDP-C Style: BONUS - Dupain-Cheng back in Paris for her 21st birthday and the hottest surprise party of the century (Spoilers: Of COURSE Jagged was there!)"_

_ L'Officiel:_

_ "ON THE COVER: Into China: Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her journey into her mother's homeland. An in-depth day-by-day follow of the Designer/Model's dive into her heritage and how she connects her roots to her style (feat. 21 pages of pictures, clothes, and how Dupain-Cheng got her name, 'Little Tigress'; PLUS: Swanky hotels, swankier parties, and EXCLUSIVE PREVIEW of MDP-C at China Fashion Week"_

_ Vogue:_

_ "The Business of Being Marinette: Of her break-up with rockstar Luka Couffaine, the loss of the father she never knew, her new headquarters in Paris, and dealing with emotional stressors while living in a world of 'fixed smiles and pretty faces'."_

The _Vogue _article was from the year before, and it was the last article she had agreed to do. For anyone. Ever.

Marinette was 23 at the time.

Marinette was 23 when her mother, standing by her at her estranged father's gravesite during his funeral, admitted that her father had never left their family, but that Sabine had left him to pursue her own career. That he had tried contacting them relentlessly, and that Sabine had burned every letter and card he ever sent, except for the lucky charm that she had pretended was her own present to her daughter on her 17th birthday. She said it was for her own good. She said it with tears in her eyes that Marinette had never seen before.

Marinette was 23 when the emotions following her mother's confession finally forced the feelings out she had hidden from saying goodbye to her Kwami when she, Beetle, Lucky Fox, and Stinger took down Hawkmoth.

The tabloids claimed Marinette had had a nervous breakdown. She silently agreed.

Marinette was 23 when she finally admitted to herself that in giving up her closest friend, she had given up the only friend she had left.

And that no matter how many black cats she bought, none would ever compare to Plagg himself.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was 23 when she sold her fashion empire, laid off all of her personal staff, and shut herself off from the world.

qpqpqpqpqp

"_Hello?_"

Marinette took a sharp intake of breath at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line. It was after 14 tried and failed "Alya Cesaire"'s when Marinette remembered a wedding invitation from some years previous and had finally dialed up "Alya Lahiffe". It was a wedding she hadn't bothered attending, for a best friend long forgotten. Now, at the sound of her ex-best friend's voice on the other end of the line, Marinette found herself hesitating to reply.

_She doesn't want your company. _

_Hang up now before she suffers like everyone else who knows you._

_ You're USING her._

The thoughts plagued her still. Marinette sighed fearfully, struggling to grab onto her phone to end the call and dropping it in the process. When she finally brought it back into her hand – muttering about the unreliable piece of junk – her finger hesitated over the end-call button when Alya spoke again.

"_…Marinette?_"

Marinette blinked once.

Twice.

Then the sobs started, and it would be many hours before they stopped.

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[[it gets better! I promise! healing takes time, loves.

thanks for reading! xoxo

-Maki]]


	2. ch4pt3r 0n3

[[A/N: Thank you ALL you lefts favs and reviews! I read everyONE of them and it means a lot to me that you took the time to do that great stuff and to even read this and I just...thank you all, you wonderful, beautiful people you.

xoxo, Maki]]

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Adrien stood on the doorstep of the unassuming but well-groomed house and tried – _again _– to _not _think about how he was literally on the threshold of seeing his "crush" for the first time in _seven years_. He blew out a hard breath, pointedly ignoring the racing of his heart by readjusting the thick black glasses struggling to stay up on his nose. Again. The hand not gripping the basket of patisseries reached up to knock on the door, only to pause in nervous indecision once more. This time, however, the indecision didn't come from having his fourth existential crisis on her doorstep; Adrien, to his horror, had discovered that Marinette had a _doorbell_. Now, plagued with yet _another _decision to make – doorbell or knocking – Adrien was all but ready to dash off the porch…when suddenly, a buzz sounded in his pocket.

Thankful for the delay, Adrien eagerly pulled his phone out of his pocket, then scowled at its contents, quickly turning and glaring around the neighborhood with a blush creeping up his cheeks.

_**From Alys:**_

_**WOULD YOU QUIT FREAKING OUT AND RING THE DOORBELL ALREADY GOOD GRACIOUS I'M NOT GETTING ANY YOUNGER**_

He couldn't spot Alya anywhere, cursedly good journalist that she was, so Adrien settled for dramatically shoving his phone back into his pocket _without _answering her message.

_That'll show her._

Now…the door.

"Ah, Tikki," he muttered quietly to the nothingness around him. "How I wish you were here now. I could use some _positive _encouragement."

Only pulling on his shirt hem to straighten out the wrinkles twice more and pushing his glasses further onto his nose once, Adrien finally reached up and rang the doorbell.

Then immediately wanted to run away.

_She needs you! _his inner thoughts yelled desperately at him. _You were _hired _for this! DON'T run, AND DON'T SWEAT WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T SWE –_

Adrien yelped and stumbled into the small banister that wrapped around the porch when the door suddenly swung open. He inwardly mourned the croissant that leapt out of the basket, but was more intrigued by the big, blue eye peeking out from under the chain lock keeping the door at a safe two inches open.

"Can I help you?" was what Adrien had expected.

"Are you it?" was what the blue-eyed girl gave him instead.

Adrien blinked, still hunched backward over the banister, unsure how to proceed.

"Uh…yes? That is…" He straightened himself up hurriedly, stilting his sigh at another lost pastry in the process, and looked at Blue Eye. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "This _is_ Marinette DupaaaaHHH!"

Another _super manly and heroically awesome _yelp burst from him when Blue Eye slammed the door just to unlock and yank it open just as quickly, pulling Adrien inside by the arm. Now sprawled out on the floor, Dough Boy hurriedly made a sweep to see if there were any more baked casualties, scrambling up on all fours and crawling through the dimly-lit entryway. Too slowly, he realized how ridiculous he must look and hurried to his feet, fixing his glasses back on his face. Blue Eye was standing at the door still, but facing away from him. Adrien could finally make sure his assailant was the person he thought – hoped? – it was…and when he really looked at her, he felt all at once like he was in between passing out and, to put it frankly, barfing.

It was definitely _her_.

She was up on her tiptoes in bare feet, a thin silver anklet around one foot and a blue ring around one toe, and still barely tall enough to see through the peephole in her door. A loose black skirt made out of some type of stretchy t-shirt fabric hung whimsically on her hips, something simple that fit her _quite _nicely. An oversized t-shirt – a Jagged Stone concert tee from a few years prior, Adrien had one just like it – hung loose on her shoulders but was cinched at the bottom, the fabric pulled together to knot in a cute bow. Even from behind (or, well, maybe especially from behind, maybe, if Adrien had really "checked her out", which he definitely did _not _do, because that would be extremely unprofessional and ungentlemanly), she was still as small and pretty as he remembered. She switched from one eye to the other to stare through the tiny window to the outside, tippy-toes dancing to keep her balanced. The simple action struck Adrien hard enough he physically slapped his chest over his heart in an effort to keep it in there.

Sure, he had magazine cut-outs of her.

Maybe of every modeling gig she had _ever _done.

And maybe saved every teasing and friendly snapshot of the two of them from the brief time they were in school together.

But….

Marinette really was stunning.

She had grown out her hair, the long black strands ending in dreadlocks, curls, braids, or beads, and somehow _working_ for her. Her bangs were wisped back into a French braid, drawing in some of the free tresses and wrapping around her left ear to show off her small undercut patch there, one Adrien knew used to have the Jagged Stone diamond shape, but seemed to have grown out since then. Those big blue eyes were barely make-upped – so different from her shoots – with just a touch of liner and mascara, and her lips, oh those _lips…. _The way they _moved…_and that _fulness_, and –

Oh _crap! _They're moving!

_PAY ATTENTION, DUMMY!_

"…about paparazzi!" Marinette hissed at him. She took one glance back at the door, then took a step toward Adrien, one hand grabbing onto her other arm and tapping furiously. Words Adrien couldn't hear tumbled out of her mouth, and he watched Marinette close her eyes and take a deep breath. Then, as if nothing happened between her last sentence and this moment, her hands snapped to her hips the same instant her eyes snapped to his. "What were you _thinking_?" Adrien almost held up his basket as a shield against any more conversational interrogation.

"I…wasn't?" he offered.

Honesty is always the best policy. Especially with an angry woman.

Marinette scoffed. She opened her mouth, and Adrien mentally prepared himself for a tongue-lashing…but she shut her mouth again and just stared at him instead. The head tilt that followed made Adrien's knees weak, and for the 142nd time since he agreed to this job, he reminded himself firmly that his thoughts needed to stay _professional_.

_(But, DANG if she didn't look adorable.)_

"You look familiar…" Marinette was up on her tiptoes again to get a better look at his face. Adrien flushed in response, the sheer proximity of her enough to blank out his mind again. She grabbed her arm again and muttered something; it looked like she might be counting. Whatever she was saying matched up with the rhythm she patted on her arm. Adrien narrowed his eyes at the gesture, but was caught off guard when her eyes flicked to his for just a moment.

And now she was circling him with those cat-like eyes.

And now she was pinching in the side of his shirt as if measuring the extra fabric there, and though Adrien already had figured out how _not _prepared for close quarters he was, he now found that physical interaction of any sort with Marinette put his brain into a near-catatonic state. His shoulders hunched when he raised his hands and basket away from the hem of the shirt Marinette was measuring, but it wasn't to be helpful to her; the motion was a pure reflex, as if his subconscious knew that, while _this _was a bad situation, any skin-to-skin contact – accidental or otherwise – would result in death. Or something like that.

"If you wear a shirt size smaller," Marinette said, seemingly to the shirt itself instead of Adrien, "it would fit your torso better…but being so tall, you should find a store with a tall size. A lot of them have those sizes online, even if it's not in the physical location. Now the pants…"

No, not the pants.

Not.

The.

Pants.

Normal bodily functions – like _breathing_ – where becoming difficult, just with Marinette being who she is and _touching him_. Now, with little more than a verbal warning, Adrien felt rather than saw her small hands grab a hold of the fabric so close to his, uh, _back pants pockets_ and then use the same "measuring" or what_ever _technique she had used on his shirt from _that spot _all the way down the side of his leg.

He was almost positive he could _hear _the slight fizzle as his brain short-circuited.

At least, because of this brain malfunction, he didn't jump or flail like he normally word have.

"You have nice assets here," Marinette was muttering on to him.

Did she just…?

_Did she just…!?_

"…But this cut is wrong for your height." Marinette took a small step back and looked up into the space above Adrien and down to his feet before looking him over again. "How tall are you?"

Guuhhh….Marin – WAIT. DIRECT QUESTION! ANSWER, ANSWER, ANSWER - !

"Uhh…6'1"?"

"Holey cheeseballs…" Again, Marinette held onto her arm and tapped on it, her lips moving in tandem. But before Adrien had a second to study the odd habit further, she circled him again. Only this time, when she came back to his front and pulled on his shirt, she stretched the fabric tight against his skin and started _touching _his abs.

Adrien died a little at the approving hum she gave him.

"Huh," she said plainly, a tone of surprise evident. "Not bad. Were you a model in a former life?" She smiled a little to herself, as if she had just made a joke.

It was something said in jest, surely.

…Right?

"Uh, excuse me," her voice sounded from farther away, and when Adrien shook himself out of his current daze, he realized she had started to move through the house. "I can give you tips to actually dress properly, but if I have to think for you too, you're fired."

"Th-That – " Adrien choked out, then cleared his throat, dropping his still-propped-up arms in the process. "That won't be necessary, Mlle."

"Hm." Marinette looked like she would say something more, but remained silent. She turned and started down the dark hallway again, skirt and long hair flowing in tandem. "Follow me, then, and I'll explain what I need you to do."

Adrien's steps were slow to respond, his mind sobering with every step. Marinette had grabbed onto her arm again, and started tapping her finger on the skin by her elbow once more. The action spoke louder to Adrien than anything Marinette had said or done so far. The girl Adrien had known in school had changed more than even he – or Alya – had anticipated. A sigh escaped from the breath he had been holding. While he watched Marinette move deftly through the hallways – and so silently Adrien's footsteps seemed abnormally loud – he could see the glimpse of the girl from before, the one who had come to rescue him on more than one occasion, even though she never realized who he really was to her. At this thought, a scene from the past came to mind, unbidden, as he watched her swaying steps ahead of him.

_Adrien, the baker boy, as he was wont to do, leapt onto the small table on his rooftop terrace, facing Chat Noire as she lounged cross-legged in his chair. In one hand he brandished his broom like a sword, and in his other hand he held his watering can shield._

"_And then the brave knight – that's me, Kitten, remember that – would slay the dragon and rescue the princess. 'Oh! Sir Knight!'" he'd say in a falsetto voice that always made Chat Noire burst out laughing, usually spilling milk through her nose. "'Just Adrien, my dear'," – he'd follow in as deep a voice as he could make – "'Oooohhh AAaaddrrieeeennn…' she'd say, as I sweep her off her feet and – "_

"_Promptly drop her right on her face, as per usual! The end!" Chat would laugh and laugh at this joke, holding her stomach as she did so. _

"_I was going to say, 'as we rode off into the sunset,'" Adrien responded in an unimpressed tone, dropping his arms to his sides. "But I suppose I'd have to admit that your way is more accurate." He'd laugh and roll his eyes, and just as he picked up another bun, Chat would snatch it from him, blinking her slitted eyes and winking._

"_At least you'll always have nice buns!"_

"_That's still not funny."_

….

It was always funny.


End file.
